


Scrub-a-dub-dub

by cmshaw



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, lj snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-03
Updated: 2002-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vecchio approves of cleanliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scrub-a-dub-dub

**Author's Note:**

> so, thermidor wanted the rays in a hot tub. "sure!", i said, but ray vecchio said..

"No fucking way are you getting in my hot tub like that, Kowalski. Go scour first."

Kowalski looked down at himself. "What?"

Vecchio gave him a frustrated-sounding growl. "What do you mean, 'What?' You're filthy."

"Well, yeah, but it was in a good cause," Kowalski said, and he tried for a cute smile through all the tiredness.

It must not have worked. Vecchio rolled his eyes. "Do I even want to know, or should I just assume that you and the Mountie got down and rubbed your faces in the dirt?"

Kowalski cracked his knuckles. "Nope. You think this is dirty, you should see the guy whose face I _did_ rub in the mud!"

"Been there," Vecchio said tightly. "Done that."

Kowalski shuffled uncomfortably, but said, "Fuck, then you should know what it's like. Come on, I'm hurting here. Lemme soak for a while."

Vecchio took his arm and led him back inside. "No. Get clean first. Shower," he said, and pulled Kowalski into the downstairs bathroom, the one with the big square shower stall.

"Fine," said Kowalski, and yanked off his clothes. "Okay?" He turned on the water, flailed his hands around under it until the temperature was right, and got in. Vecchio got in with him. "You don't need to get clean," Kowalski muttered.

"Shut up," Vecchio suggested affectionately, soaping up his hands.

Kowalski sighed and hung his head, letting Vecchio hold him under the water and stroke gently slippery hands across his cheekbones and collarbones and ribs. It was just dirt -- he didn't care about dirt. Skin on the outside, blood on the inside, his body was fine. And that great big bruise on his chest, the one that Vecchio was washing so carefully that Kowalski could hardly feel the pads of his fingers, that bruise meant nothing. Close counted in horseshoes and bocce and other stupid Italian games, but not with medium-caliber handguns. With guns you were dead or you were not dead, and Kowalski was not dead. So he wanted into Vecchio's hot tub.

Or at least into Vecchio.

"Gaaaaaa_aaaaah_," he said coherently, when Vecchio propped him up against the side of the shower stall and went down on him. The shower was hot and wet, and so was Vecchio's mouth, and for a woozy moment he almost couldn't tell what was happening. Then Vecchio made a messy slurping noise -- messy, thank god, after all that cleaning -- and Kowalski looked down just as Vecchio looked up. Vecchio grinned, and winked, and his mouth was hot and wet with _intent_, which couldn't be mistaken for anything else ever. "Uuuuuuuh," Kowalski said, "uuuuh, uuuuh, uuuuh," and apparently that was as much conversation as Vecchio expected out of him, because he kept sucking. Kowalski's foot started to slip, and Vecchio shoved his leg into place.

Kowalski thought about saying something profound, like "Thank you" or "You're wonderful" or even "I love you", but there was too much steam and not enough air for words. Everything was wet-slick-hot-slide-wet and he was coming already, no time to say anything at all. Vecchio caught him and slid him carefully down until he was sitting bare-assed on the wet tiles at the bottom of the shower.

The water shut off and Vecchio knelt down next to him. "Better?" he asked.

Kowalski raised his arms to show himself off and said, "All clean now."

Vecchio smiled and kissed him.


End file.
